


might find me anyway

by talia_ae



Category: Push (2009)
Genre: F/M, porn with a bit of plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-16
Updated: 2012-02-16
Packaged: 2017-10-31 06:39:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/341073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talia_ae/pseuds/talia_ae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In Kiev, Cassie hacks off her hair, and Nick comes to a realization.</p>
            </blockquote>





	might find me anyway

**Author's Note:**

> title from 'Raindrops' by Regina Spektor, and as implied in the fic, Cassie is 18/19.

In Kiev, Cassie cuts off her hair, hacks at it until it's jagged about her earlobes. She paints her mouth red and puts on mascara, lips parted, and Nick watches and doesn't say a word.  
  
"I'm not going to be out late," she says, turning away from the mirror (cracked, spotted with age; her reflection distorts in it in a way that she finds utterly fascinating--) to see him sitting neatly on the bed. "Don't worry."  
  
Nick's face is open but jaw tense when he says, "I figured out long ago that I can't have it both ways." The _with you_ is implied and she stalks over to him, folding her arms across her chest. It would be more effective if she didn't stumble and trip on her heels.  
  
"I'm not drunk enough for this conversation," Cassie says. Her hand instinctively goes to the ends of her hair. It's barely long enough for her to tangle her fingers in it. She thinks that's a habit she will never break.  
  
"It's just-- I'm almost thirty," Nick says, "and I can't be your older brother and your lover all at once."  
  
It should be easy, she thinks. She should say, _pick one and leave the other_ and they should be fine, together, waiting out the ends of a fight they're coming dangerously close to winning.   
  
Her mouth twists. "Yeah, well, I'm almost twenty. It's not like it was five years ago."  
  
"Hey, soon you can buy your own drinks in bars," Nick says. She pushes at his shoulder a little.  
  
"Fuck you, my fake works fine."  
  
"Only like, half the time, jesus, remember in that time in Savannah where you snuck through the back--"  
  
"--and we had to pretend to be together? Yes," she leans in, closer, straddles his lap. Nick's eyes go wide, pupils dilated, and here's the thing: she knows he's wanted this as much as she does, but he's torn by this old, odd dichotomy and Cassie is _over it_.   
As in: shut the fuck up and kiss her, idiot.  
  
She brushes her mouth against his, a light warning, and then pushes him down onto the bed.  
  
The last time they did this was adrenaline and fear and hormones in the back of a club; she'd hiked her skirt up and her underwear had floated down around her ankles as she'd unzipped Nick's fly, quickly and efficiently. He'd slid into her and her hips had jerked up against him, setting an unbalanced, unsteady rhythm that was just good enough. She'd Seen that one coming, quick escape and quick release, and they'd both gotten so drunk afterwards they didn't have to talk about it.  
  
This though, this is all new. He's warm below her as she presses down, sealing her mouth against his, warm and wet and familiar, and Nick's hands come up to cradle her ass, stroke down the line of her spine. "Cassie--" he says, and she looks at him with serious, back-ringed eyes, and he nods. Makes a choice. "Okay," Nick says, and uses his powers to flip them over (which is _so_ cheating.)  
  
She arches up into him, breasts pressing against his chest, and he smirks and traces a hand around the hem of her shirt, pushing it up. She squirms-- too many clothes, even if Nick wants to do this slow-- and does some exploring of her own.  
  
They've lived in each other's pockets for years but it's different now, feeling mostly-smooth skin under her fingertips, having him moan into her mouth when her hand brushes over his dick. At this point her skirt is a nonentity and her underwear in snagged around one bony ankle. She's got his jeans down to his knees and Nick is sliding against her, looking for friction, one hand still cupping her breast, palming her nipple.  
  
Cassie wants to make him fall apart.  
  
"Come on," she says, digging her hands into his shoulderblades and urging him on. Her legs fall open even more, an inverted v, and Nick guides himself inside her.  
  
"Fuck," he mutters into her collarbone, "god, Cassie, oh god," and she rolls her hips. Slow is good, sometimes, but fast is better because she's been running long enough to know that there's always a chance they'll end up fucked even though Division is teetering, falling.  
  
"Stop thinking," Nick says. When she meets his eyes there's a wry glint in them. He snaps his hips, surging against her, and Cassie does some cursing of her own.


End file.
